


Rivers That Seek for Seas They Never Find

by ImmortalxSnow



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drabble, Drunkenness, Gen, Home, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Loneliness, Mentions Of Okumura Eiji, Mentions of Ash Lynx - Freeform, Minor Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, My First Work in This Fandom, Self-Hatred, Sort of? - Freeform, Stream of Consciousness, but I'm not going to give it to him, fics to share with my therapist, kind of, lee yut-lung deserves happiness, mentions of Lee Yut-Lung's mother, post now edit later, projecting my depression onto fictional characters, title taken from a wallace stevens poem, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalxSnow/pseuds/ImmortalxSnow
Summary: Yut-Lung finds himself reflecting on the idea of home, his jealousy of Ash and Eiji, and his seemingly insurmountable self-loathing. Just a quick drabble.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Rivers That Seek for Seas They Never Find

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm depressed and need to take my feelings out on fictional characters. Sorry if this is a little choppy or poorly written--I currently lack the ability to make words go where I want them to. Will probably need to get out my red pen later.
> 
> Title is taken from the poem "Sunday Morning," by Wallace Stevens.

_I want to go home._

It’s a stupid thought, Yut-Lung knows — he _is_ home. He’s lounging on the chaise in his bedroom, with a flute of crisp champagne in hand. Every inch of his body is exquisitely comfortable.

But still. That thought continues to invade his consciousness, and with each beat of his heart, its poison seeps deeper into him.

Home.

If not here, then where? Hong Kong is the obvious answer. After all, that’s where he was born, where he was with his mother. But much to Yut-Lung’s chagrin, Hong Kong doesn’t feel like the place he has in mind.

Then, another, equally insidious thought worms its way into his awareness.

Ash and Eiji. The way they look at one another, with warm eyes and soft smiles, as if everything else in the world has ceased to exist. Their unbreakable trust in one another, their gentle affection, their limitless devotion. Their love. And the home they have found in each other.

Yut-Lung’s eyes sting as he contemplates throwing the empty champagne flute against the wall. How many times has he told himself (and anyone who’ll listen) that he despises what Ash and Eiji have? How often has he tried to destroy it? And yet there’s nothing he desires more, to the point that his longing threatens to turn his soul inside out.

It makes him sick with self-hatred. And _that_ makes him want to get drunk.

So, willing his hands to stop shaking, Yut-Lung refills his champagne flute and prepares himself to spend another night unmoored and adrift in oblivion; and in his last fuzzy flickers of consciousness before passing out on the chaise, he wonders absently if he’ll ever possess the thing he so desperately wants.

It’s possible, he concludes. One day, he may have a home to return to — if only he doesn’t destroy it first.


End file.
